Home to me means a sense of familiarity and nostalgia(怀旧). It's fun to come home. It looks the same. It smells the same. You'll realize what's changed is you. Home is where we ran remember pain, live, and some other experiences; We parted here; My parents met here; I won three championships here.

    If I close my eyes, I can still have a clear picture in mind of my first home. I walk in the door and see a brown sofa surrounding a low glass-top wooden table. To the right of the living room is my first bedroom. It's empty, but it's where my earliest memories are.

    There is the dining room table where I celebrated birthdays, and where I cried on Halloween-when I didn't want to wear the skirt my mother made for me. I always liked standing on that table because it made me feel tall and strong. If I sit at this table, I can see my favorite room in the house, my parents' room. It is simple: a brown wooden dresser lines the right side of the wall next to a television and a couple of photos of my grandparents on each side. Their bed is my safe zone. I can jump on it anytime - waking up my parents if I am scared or if I have an important announcement that cannot wait until the morning.

    I'm lucky because I know my first home still exists. It exists in my mind and heart, on a physical property(住宅) on West 64th street on the western edge of Los Angeles. It is proof I lived, I grew and I learned.

    Sometimes when I feel lost, I lie down and shut my eyes, and I go home. I know it's where I'll find my family, my dogs, and my belongings. I purposely leave the window open at night because I know I'll be blamed by Mom. But I don't mind, because I want to hear her say my name, which reminds me I'm home.